


Cucking Aimé

by AngelPussy



Category: EVANS Johannes T. - Works, Powder and Feathers - Johannes T. Evans
Genre: Angel Wings, Begging, Come Inflation, Crying, Cuckolding, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, Incest, Large Cock, M/M, Masochism, Oral Sex, POV Aimé, POV Jean-Pierre, Painful Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Size Difference, Size Kink, Trans Male Character, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27199028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelPussy/pseuds/AngelPussy
Summary: Jean-Pierre has been told about wearing clothes in the common area.It's his own fault if he doesn't listen.
Relationships: Aimé Deverell/Jean-Pierre Delacroix, Asmodeus/Jean-Pierre Delacroix/Aimé Deverell, Jean-Pierre Delacroix/Asmodeus
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Cucking Aimé

Aimé was washing dishes, and Jean-Pierre was watching him, his knees resting on the sofa cushion, his elbows against the back of the sofa. It seemed, from what Jean-Pierre could tell, that Aimé found the dishes easier to do in their house than in his own, perhaps because of the pressure of other people about to watch him, to press on him…

When he was finished, they would go back to bed.

“Did you finish your metaphysics assignment?” Jean-Pierre asked, idly reaching down and palming over his clit, sighing at the pleasant stroke of pleasure it sent up his spine. It wasn’t urgent, not just yet – he could be patient for now, but he was wet.

“Yeah,” Aimé said. “I just have reading to do for next week. You’ve done all your stuff, I suppose?”

“I could do with some more anatomy study,” Jean-Pierre said, and Aimé turned to give him a wry look. Jean-Pierre beamed at him, and Aimé rolled his eyes, putting a plate on the rack to dry and picking another one out of the sink.

Jean-Pierre could still feel Aimé leaking out of him, his own cunt still wet and open, and his arousal was not at all draining away. Aimé could not yet be convinced to come downstairs without his clothes on, that Jean-Pierre could really admire him, but he was wearing his pyjama trousers and shirt that Jean-Pierre had intentionally washed on too high a setting: the pyjama trousers were tight enough that Jean-Pierre could see the pleasant curve of his arse very well, though not as well as he could see the heavy outline of Aimé’s cock when viewed from behind. This was nothing, of course, compared to the way the shirt rode up, revealing a delicious curve of flesh around his belly and his lower back, where Jean-Pierre could see the shirt struggling to remain in place, the hair dusting what Jean-Pierre knew was very sensitive, ticklish flesh.

His chest looked fine as well, the swells of his chest on each side showing, and when Aimé was aroused, through the tight shirt, Jean-Pierre could see the wide peak of his nipples, easy targets to reach for and tug at even through the fabric, the better to make Aimé squirm and cry out when Jean-Pierre rode him.

When Asmodeus entered, Jean-Pierre turned to glance at him. He was wearing his glasses, a book in his hand, but when he noticed Aimé and Jean-Pierre, he glanced at him, frowning slightly as he looked at Jean-Pierre’s body.

Jean-Pierre was naked, as he usually was, his wings out. “What?”

“Nothing,” Asmodeus murmured, and Jean-Pierre rolled his shoulders slightly as he turned back to Aimé. “Didn’t Colm complain about you being naked in the living room?”

“He isn’t here,” said Jean-Pierre, watching Aimé’s arse, and watching his shoulders go slightly stiff, as they sometimes did when the angels talked amongst themselves.

“No,” Asmodeus agreed, and then Jean-Pierre felt his fingers slip into his open cunt.

He gasped in a sharp breath at the easy slide of two fingers inside him, and he looked up at Asmodeus’ expression, which was completely impassive as he scissored them, pressing on Jean-Pierre’s inner walls wet with his own slick and Aimé’s come alike.

“You’re really that desperate for attention?” Asmodeus asked, in a disapproving tone that made Jean-Pierre squirm, but all that did was push him back onto Asmodeus’ fingers, and Asmodeus responded by pushing in a third.

“N— _No_ ,” Jean-Pierre hissed, a humiliated flush burning immediately in his cheeks, over his chest. He was embarrassed, glanced at Aimé, but Aimé was still facing the other way, washing the dishes a little more vigorously to make a little more noise.

“You don’t think it’s rude?”

“Rude?” Jean-Pierre repeated in something like a whimper, because three of Asmodeus’ fingers, as big as he was compared to Aimé, were slightly wider and almost as long as Aimé’s cock, and he glanced tentatively at the front of Asmodeus’ trousers. Asmodeus’ cock was _huge_ , and it had been years, decades, since Asmodeus had last fucked him, and that had been to embarrass him too, to teach him a lesson, but it hadn’t been like _this_ , hadn’t been where Jean-Pierre’s lover could _see_ him.

“To Aimé here,” Asmodeus said, and Jean-Pierre looked, but Aimé was still studiously focused on the dishes, and Jean-Pierre realised, with a sinking feeling, that he wasn’t just ignoring Asmodeus. He’d put his headphones in, and was bobbing his head slightly with the music. “Putting yourself on display, begging for anyone to fuck you.”

“No,” Jean-Pierre said quickly. “No, no, De, that’s not what I— I just didn’t want to put on, _aah_ , De, Asmodeus, please—”

“Please?” Asmodeus repeated tonelessly, tilting his head to the side, and he pressed his pinky into Jean-Pierre’s cunt, sliding all four fingers as deeply as they’d go even as he pressed down against Jean-Pierre’s g-spot, and Jean couldn’t help the whine that eked out of him as he grabbed hard at the back of the sofa, pressing his head down against it.

“De, De, _De_ —”

With his other hand, Asmodeus was unbuckling his belt, and Jean-Pierre swallowed hard, shaking his head. Asmodeus was—

It wasn’t that he didn’t like a large cock, from time to time, but men with big cocks were usually too confident, far too certain of themselves, and he tried to avoid them. Aimé’s cock was a little below average, which was perfect – and very pleasurable, too, didn’t come with the tight fit and force that a huge cock like Asmodeus’ came with, not when Jean-Pierre was so lithe and slim as he was, not fit to take it easily.

“De, don’t, don’t, I’ll put something on,” Jean-Pierre said, trying to pull himself off of Asmodeus’ fingers, but Asmodeus just fucked him on them, making him shudder, his knees weakening at the way Asmodeus twisted his hand, making Jean-Pierre drop against the back of the couch.

“No, don’t do that on my account, Jean-Pierre,” Asmodeus said, and Jean-Pierre swallowed as he tugged his cock free, sliding his hand around it. It was ridiculous, Asmodeus’ cock, a little big for him even in proportion with the rest of him, and Jean-Pierre felt his eyes water as Asmodeus scissored all his fingers together, stretching Jean-Pierre wide enough that he could feel the slight, pinched pain of the stretch, which would be nothing compared to Asmodeus’ cock. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

He slid his fingers free, and Jean-Pierre opened his mouth to protest again, but Asmodeus grabbed hold of both of his hips with a punishing grip and shoved his cock home in one movement.

It was too big.

Jean-Pierre cried out at the top of his lungs, feeling as though Asmodeus was impaling him, shoved in to the root, splitting him wide open, and now Aimé did turn around, his eyes wide, his mouth wide open. Jean-Pierre couldn’t even say anything, choking out whimpered, hiccoughing sounds as Asmodeus fucked into him, long, easy strokes that made Jean-Pierre feel as though his very core were being pierced, and when he stared down at himself, he could see the obscene shift of his own belly at every movement of Asmodeus’ hips, the slight swell of the skin as Asmodeus’ cock slid inside him.

It ached, but that wasn’t all: he was wet and open and he’d _wanted_ to be fucked, and the humiliation was making him shudder, tension dragging into a tight ball inside him.

“Jesus,” Aimé whispered, tugging out his headphones.

“Sorry, Aimé,” Asmodeus said mildly, reaching underneath Jean-Pierre and pressing hard on his belly, probably to feel the movement of his own cock from the outside. “Just that my brother needs to be dragged in line now and then. You understand, don’t you?”

Aimé was speechless, staring at Jean-Pierre, and in the tight PJ bottoms, Jean-Pierre could see how hard his cock was. It _hurt_ as Asmodeus shifted his angle, but the pain was good in its way, like scratching a painful itch, and Jean-Pierre choked in gasps of air, his fingers twitching on the back of the sofa.

He tried to reach down between them, to touch his own clit, but Asmodeus had his wrists bound with a snap of his fingers, and at the same time, dragged Jean-Pierre up by the base of his wings, and _really_ impaled him now. Jean-Pierre wailed as he was dropped down by his own weight onto Asmodeus’ cock, his wrists bound together in front of his belly, and trying to kick out with his legs only served to shift his position on Asmodeus’ obscene cock.

At this angle, the shaft shifting inside him was obvious, and he saw the way Aimé palmed over himself as he stared.

“He loves this,” Asmodeus said, and with one hand still holding Jean-Pierre up by the roots of his wings, pressing on the sensitive flesh there in a way that made him squirm and cry out, his other hand slapped the side of Jean-Pierre’s thigh. “Jean likes to boss you about, I bet, Aimé?”

“Yeah,” Aimé said hoarsely.

“He likes to be fucked the way he deserves,” Asmodeus said: the whole time, his intonation was cool, collected, utterly unfeeling, and Jean-Pierre was horribly aware of the way he was dripping around his brother’s fat prick. “Like a slut.”

Jean-Pierre came with a sob, and he whined at the way he felt himself clench around Asmodeus, the way he felt himself _gush_ , and he could see Aimé lick his lips as he watched Jean-Pierre’s clit jump.

He tried to shift again, but both of Asmodeus’ fingers were gripping his wings now, and when he started pressing with his thumbs against the oil glands around their base, making that strange, perfect release thrum with heat in his back and shoulders, Jean-Pierre cried out with the overstimulation.

* * *

Aimé had assumed Asmodeus’ cock was big.

You sort of had to assume it, with how big Asmodeus was himself, with how confident he was, but his cock was so big, Aimé could see now, that it showed obviously through the slim curve of Jean-Pierre’s flat belly, and Aimé had never been this hard in his _life_.

That was wrong, he supposed, watching your boyfriend get fucked by his brother – watching said brother drop your boyfriend on his cock like he was trying to fucking kill him on it, and seeing how your boyfriend loved it so much he _came_.

Jean-Pierre’s clit was huge and bright pink, jumping very few seconds, and there was slick pouring down his thighs – at the white streaks in it, Aimé couldn’t help but wonder if the come was his or Asmodeus’, and the idea made his own cock jump in his pyjamas, pre- staining the fabric.

“See?” Asmodeus asked, doing something to Jean-Pierre’s wings that made him squirm and sob, tears on his cheeks, so red he looked like he might burst. “Come here, Aimé.”

Aimé moved without even thinking about it – Asmodeus was as impossible to ignore an order from was Jean-Pierre – but once he was in front of him, he barely even knew what to do. Asmodeus didn’t tell him to touch, but didn’t tell him _not_ to touch, and Aimé reached out, pressing down on the place where he could see Asmodeus’ cock move inside Jean-Pierre, and Jean-Pierre gasped, choked, shook his head.

Jean-Pierre would never let Aimé fuck him like this. Even if Aimé jokingly tried to pin his wrists down when they were wrestling together, Jean-Pierre got cold _quickly_ , would respond by getting Aimé on his belly and fingering him until his cock ran dry, until he sobbed himself sick – to fuck him like this, to fuck him to humiliate him, to debase him?

Aimé had—

Never really thought about it. It had seemed too impossible.

Asmodeus did it like it was easy.

“You want me to come inside your boyfriend?” Asmodeus asked in that weird, cold way he had of talking, and Aimé bit hard on his lip, humiliated at how hard his cock jumped at that. “I can fill him up, you know. Have you ever considered, Aimé, how Jean might look pregnant?”

Jean-Pierre had barely managed words these past few minutes, but how his eyes were wide, his lips parted with saliva dribbled on his chin he was struggling so much to control himself. “Ungh,” he whined, “ungh, De—”

Aimé pressed down on his belly, and Jean-Pierre’s eyes rolled back in his head as he cried out.

Aimé could come in his fucking pants, watching him like this.

“No,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know he could— that he could—”

“Oh, he can’t,” Asmodeus said, and then dragged Jean-Pierre back against his chest, so that he could murmur in his ear, “Well, he could. If I wanted him to.”

Jean-Pierre yelled at that, wordless and desperate and so terrified that Aimé felt bad for the way his dick pulsed, but Asmodeus just laughed at him.

“Play with his clit, Aimé,” Asmodeus instructed him, and with one hand still pressing on Jean-Pierre’s belly, feeling the obscene shift of Asmodeus inside him, he reached for Jean-Pierre’s fat, juicy clit, pressing down on it, then taking hold of Jean-Pierre by the thick lips either side and squeezing his clit in it. He squeezed as tightly as he knew Jean-Pierre liked, tighter, even, so much so it _must_ have had a sort of savage hurt in it, and Jean-Pierre _howled_ as he came again.

Asmodeus barely made a noise: he sighed, dragging his teeth over the back of Jean-Pierre’s neck, but even though nothing showed in his face, Aimé could see the way his balls drew up tight, and pressing on Jean-Pierre’s stomach, he could feel the way his cock pulsed. He was mystified, amazed, still squeezing Jean-Pierre’s clit tightly as it jumped and jerked in his grip, and he felt Asmodeus’ come gush out of the head of his cock, washing the inside of Jean-Pierre’s walls.

It must have been overstimulating, because Jean-Pierre tried to squirm free of Aimé’s grip, but Aimé just held on tighter, rolling Jean-Pierre’s fat little clit between his thumb and forefinger, and Jean-Pierre sobbed desperately.

His belly swelled.

Aimé’s mouth was dry, watching him, watching the fucked-out expression on Jean-Pierre’s face, feeling the jump of his clit, and even as he pressed on Jean-Pierre’s belly, it swelled further outward. As Asmodeus continued to thrust up and into him, dropping Jean-Pierre down on his cock, he could hear the sound of Asmodeus’ come _sloshing_ in his brother’s belly, could see the flat stomach swell outward, feel it balloon under his hand.

“He’s gonna burst,” Aimé said, and Asmodeus laughed, smacking the side of Jean-Pierre’s belly and making the liquid inside make a loud splash and sound. Jean-Pierre was moaning constantly now, incoherent, and his stomach was as rounded out as a soccer ball, hanging down over Aimé’s grip on his clit.

“No, not just yet,” Asmodeus murmured. “We can keep going. He needs this. He’d like to be fucked by an army, if he could, but I can stand in.”

Jean-Pierre’s face crumpled, and the tears on his face looked so humiliated, but he couldn’t talk, couldn’t even try to, and Aimé wondered why that made him so fucking hard.

Feeling the insane, ridiculous balloon of Jean-Pierre’s swelling belly in his hand, his cock was constantly jumping in his pants, couldn’t help the way he rocked slightly into the air.

“See how much he likes it, Jean?” Asmodeus asked softly. “See how much Aimé likes to see what you’re good for?”

Jean-Pierre’s clit jumped, and Aimé had to change his grip to grab it from the bottom instead, holding onto it sandwiched between his fat cunt lips, because his belly swelled out so far now that he really looked pregnant, at least eight months, if not more.

“That’s it,” Asmodeus said smoothly, and Aimé dared to press his fingers a little lower, to feel where Asmodeus pierced his brother open. Asmodeus’ cock was obscenely thick, wider around than Aimé’s wrist, let alone Jean-Pierre’s, and Asmodeus laughed as if he could see what Aimé was thinking, could see the humiliating thought Aimé had about being in Jean-Pierre’s place. “This is what you needed, isn’t it, Jean? Parading yourself around, wanting to be fucked by anyone could see you.”

Jean-Pierre said nothing, hiccoughing and coughing, and Aimé, experimentally, patted his belly, felt the slosh of it.

“Ungh,” Jean-Pierre moaned. “Pl— Mmm, no—”

“No?” Asmodeus asked, pouting his lips in an expression of mock sympathy. “Squeeze his clit again, Aimé.”

“No— no—”

“Why don’t you try your tongue?”

“Yeah,” Aimé said breathlessly as Jean-Pierre whined, and he had to push Jean-Pierre’s fat, swollen, sloshing belly up to get his mouth underneath, his head turned to the side so he could swallow Jean-Pierre’s clit into his mouth.

Jean-Pierre’s scream was ear-shattering, and as he came, Aimé could feel the jump of his clit on his tongue, could hear the filthy, wet sound of Asmodeus stuffed inside him as Jean-Pierre clenched around him, and he could hear, too, his ear pressed against Jean-Pierre’s swollen belly, the slosh of Asmodeus’ come inside him, and—

And just a little bit of Aimé, too.

He came in his PJ pants at the thought, moaned around Jean-Pierre’s clit and felt the way the vibrations of that made him jump and shudder.

Asmodeus laughed again.

* * *

For nearly an hour, afterward, Asmodeus sat on Jean-Pierre’s bed with Jean-Pierre impaled on him, his belly swollen and aching and so heavy he could barely move. He kept getting Aimé to go between rubbing and pressing on the swollen balloon of his fat stomach and leaning underneath it to suck on his clit, but he didn’t only do that – he kept licking and sucking at the base of Asmodeus’ cock, too, and Jean-Pierre could see that this was something he was going to keep thinking about.

Jean-Pierre’s thighs were so weak he couldn’t get them to obey him, and every new orgasm _hurt_ , making a dull ache drag at his insides, and Asmodeus reached around him, squeezing his belly.

He could hear the wet sound of Aimé’s mouth, as he sucked at Jean-Pierre’s clit and then as Asmodeus’ cock, working eagerly with his tongue.

“I think,” Asmodeus said idly, tapping on the tight, drum skin of Jean-Pierre’s belly, “I’m ready to come again.”

Jean-Pierre felt the tears on his cheeks, and hated the way his clit jumped at the declaration – and at the hungry, eager look on Aimé’s face, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment? 🥺


End file.
